


i've got a feeling (it's never too late)

by drqco



Series: barisi on ice [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Skating, Figure Skater Rafael Barba, Fluff, Hockey, Hockey Player Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Pre-Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Pre-Relationship, They/Them Pronouns for Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drqco/pseuds/drqco
Summary: rafael barba has been skating since he was 10. and though his rink was old and it smelled--he never felt more at home than on the ice.sonny carisi has been skating since they were eight. perhaps they'd never become a skater like rafael barba--but with a hockey stick in their hands and a puck at their feet--maybe they could come close.in which: rafael is a figure skater and sonny carisi plays hockey for the ny islanders. so what happens when the ny islanders' rink is up for renovation and they're forced to relocate to a manhattan rink?
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: barisi on ice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046179
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	i've got a feeling (it's never too late)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maleclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleclipse/gifts).



> REWATCHED YOI AND MY LOVE FOR FIGURE SKATING JUST. WOOSHED BACK TO ME
> 
> before starting um 😭i know pretty much nothing abt hockey but i ??? did my research ??? i guess 😭 but if there are ... basically unreadable hockey mistakes here pls just tell me .... i figured this was just going to become a series, rather than chapters, i'm not very good at writing chaptered stuff HASBHD 
> 
> this fic is for [onnie](https://twitter.com/hugkkuno) :] THIS IS TECHNICALLY HIS BRAINCHILD ... i just put it on 🧍♂️google docs i suppose .... BUT I HOPE U ENJOY THIS !!! (also if u didnt read the tags, sonny is nonbinary here ... and uses they/them .... so if u wanna comment n tell me smth abt them, just use they/them..!)

The only home Rafael has known was the ice. 

He doesn’t consider their two bedroom apartment a home, the apartment with his shitty father and dirt poor family. He can’t consider school his home, either. He doesn’t really think that Cuba is his home, considering he’s never been. 

But the ice, the old rink by his apartment complex, was his home. 

When he feels the solid, slippery surface under his skates, the coolness he feels as he glides—the familiar faces of regulars who come to practice—even the sharp pain against his bottom when he falls—he knows he’s where he’s supposed to be. And sure, he was only ten, but he plans to make it to the top. He’ll do whatever it takes. 

— 

Sonny loved the ice—but it was different from loving hockey. 

They didn’t enjoy the sport all that much—but it was something they were extremely good at. Pucks and hockey sticks and padding and teammates filled their days. It was something their father wanted for them, and who are they to disagree with that man? 

If anything, Sonny wished they could be a figure skater. 

They loved watching them skate, on TV. Sonny loves watching the junior skaters—they wre like them! Even though they barely knew how figure skating worked, how you do all the jumps and spins and sequences, nothing beat watching the qualifying events for the Grand Prix Finals—or the Olympics. Their favorite skater was Rafael Barba. He was only a couple years older than them, and he’d be making his senior debut soon. He’s been winning everything—because of his gracefulness on the ice. Not only that—but his costumes made him look magical. Sonny and their sisters watch him all the time, Sonny thinks Gina has a crush on him. 

But being a figure skater—that dream was far away, they think. No way their father would let them do that, and hockey was fine for now. They’re going to make it to the top, because what else could they do? 

— 

“It’s polished—but you need to work on your step sequence.” 

“I didn’t flub the salchow?” 

“Your landing was shaky, but nothing too major. Good work, Rafael. Can you get Liv for me?” 

Rafael nods at his coach, Jack McCoy, before skating to the other edge of the rink, leaning against the halfwall. Liv, his best friend, and Rita—his other best friend, were sitting together in the stands, laughing at him. “He said it was polished?” Rita smirks, wiping at her eyes. He rolls his eyes at them, “McCoy wants you, Liv.” 

He was training for Skate America, the first qualifying event for the Grand Prix Final. After Skate America, he’d travel to France—for the France international. 

His life changed so much since he was 10. His coach, Jack McCoy, saw him skating at the old rink and took him under his wing. Now, for the past thirteen years, he’s been training under him. His home rink is in Manhattan, and this was way different from his old rink. Some other skaters trained here too—also under McCoy. His friends—Liv and Rita—each one year older than him, trained here too. 

“Do you want to go down to the diner? Liv’s treat, she said.” 

“As long as you two—“ 

“Don’t sneak off, don’t get handsy, don’t make out—check, check, and check. I’m really hungry, anyway. McCoy is insane,” Rita tells him, as he manages to slip off his skates and slip into some sandals. At the entrance of the rink lies his waterbottle, which he picks up on the way. “Well, do you want to win Skate America?” He asks before taking a swig and plopping himself next to his friend, and the two of them watch as McCoy berates Liv. 

“And at least he’s giving us breaks, y’know,” Rafael adds on, sighing as he stretches his limbs. McCoy used to be absolutely brutal, when the three of them were younger. And it paid off, really. The three of them have gold medals, championships under their belts. Now, as they climb up in age, he’s weakened his grip—again being more harsh to the younger ones—but still is strict. Liv and Rita have, at most—four years left. They want to make the most of it. 

Rafael has the highest stamina out of them and the advantage of being one year younger. But that doesn’t mean he has much time, either. Probably five (or six, but that’s really pushing it) more years before he’ll retire. He’s pretty certain about what he wants to do after retirement. Though skating is his number one passion—law is a close second. He wants to enroll in law school, pass the bar, and become a prosecutor. Or maybe he’ll become a coach. Rita wants the same thing, but she leans more towards defense. Liv wants to become a coach. 

“I guess. Hey, do you remember—who the fuck are they?” 

Rita nods her head towards the entrance of the building, loud, boisterous, deep voices fill the empty rink. A bunch of men, each carrying a duffel bag and—hockey sticks. No hockey team trained here, not major league, at least. “Don’t know,” Rafael breathes, watching as the men keep pouring in, talking amongst one another. He can see distinct flashes outside—but no media comes pouring in. From where Rafael and Rita were sitting, it was hard to tell their faces. 

“Calhoun, Barba!” McCoy calls out, motioning them towards the half wall. They look at each other and shrug, before heading down to join McCoy, Liv, and their other rink mates who trained under McCoy. “I forgot to tell you all this, but we’re sharing the rink with the Islanders.” 

“The Islanders?” 

“What’s wrong with their rink?” 

“How is that possible?” 

“For how long?”

Questions fire one after another, until McCoy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You all need to watch the news once in a while. They’re renovating, and this is the only rink big enough to accomodate them. I’m not moving from here—so we agreed to share. It won’t even be sharing, we have the first time slot, and they’ll come in during the second half of the day.” 

Some more questions leave his rink mates’ mouths, but Rafael stays quiet—doesn’t run his mouth for once. He’s still looking over at the team, filing into the locker room. Someone is left, staring in awe of the rink—looking over at them. Rafael makes eye-contact with the stranger, before the stranger looks away. Wait—the Islanders? 

It all clicks into his head. The person standing in awe isn’t a stranger, they’re Sonny Carisi. Now, Rafael doesn’t watch a lot of hockey. For one, it didn’t appeal to him. He always associated the ice with jumps, spins, dancing—not a stick and a puck. But he did know the Islanders—and he did know who Sonny Carisi was. 

They were the up and coming player from Staten Island—from a small neighborhood and huge Italian, Catholic family. They joined the Islanders at 18, fresh out of high school. People told Rafael that the kid was bold, always leading new plays, and so quick—if you blinked, Sonny might’ve already assisted or scored. A right winger—whatever that meant. 

But Sonny was also the first nonbinary player out. Not only in the NHL, but in all of professional sports. Rafael remembers reading it a year ago, when Sonny was in their second year of playing. It was a wild chain of events. Sonny came out on Instagram, a huge paragraph explaining how they came to terms with their gender and sexuality. The picture had Sonny holding up the nonbinary flag. It was a fucking gutsy move, especially with Sonny being in their second year. 

Sonny explained that although they were nonbinary and were questioning their sexuality, they didn’t want a big deal. They just wanted to be a hockey player—who was nonbinary. Coming out was important to them, and that they hoped to help more players come out. From then on, Sonny went by they/them pronouns—is a trans activist—and supports foundations helping trans athletes and kids. Sonny was only 21, and he was doing a hell of a lot more work than others did at that age. 

The Islanders were supportive, and Sonny said their family was supportive, too. They were well liked—considering their charm and always positive attitude. Rafael never knew he’d be able to meet them. Reading their full statement made Rafael’s heart swirl. It reminded him of when he was 21 and came out—the first bisexual men’s figure skater. He didn’t get a lot of flack—and he only hopes, that behind the scenes, Sonny didn’t either. 

— 

“Rafael Barba!? Rita Calhoun!? Olivia Benson?!” 

“You’re one of those insane fans, Sonny,” Sonny’s friend and teammate, Mike Dodds says as he puts some of his gear in his locker. 

“Do you guys not know who they are?” 

“Figure skaters?” 

“Grand Prix Finals champions? Olympians? They’ve each got at least three golds EACH under their belts. Barba was the kid wonder? Oh my God,” Sonny sighs as they sit on the bench, head spinning. Their teammates chuckle—but continue on with their chatting. They moved rinks because their training rink was being renovated—all the way from Long Island. This Manhattan rink was the only one that could accomodate them. 

Sonny’s life had changed drastically since they were a kid. It was all a blur, really. Coming to terms with their religion and gender and sexuality on top of school and hockey—it left Sonny feeling hopeless for a while. They mostly relied on hockey to get everything out. On the ice, they could be whoever they wanted to be. When they were fifteen, their best friend, Amanda—came out to them. It changed Sonny, too. She would talk to them about gender and sexuality—about how God made Sonny who they were—their soul and their heart. She helped them come to terms, and by 17—they came out to their parents. 

Their parents didn’t understand, at first. How could you be—in between? It took a lot of talking for them to understand, and luckily, Sonny’s father was proud. Their father didn’t really worry much about Sonny—just about their hockey playing. 

And Sonny was damn _good._

They were so good, they made varsity in their first year of high school. It was because they were quick and agile, they were a fast skater. Sonny spent most of their time on the ice. It helped them think. Lazy figure eights helped them the most, they’d listen to music and glide across the ice—no hockey stick in hand. It kept them from doing stupid things. 

He was drafted by 18, and was chosen by the Islanders. And fuck, did their life change. 

The team was kind—though ruthless on the ice. Mike and Nick were their closest friends—the people they came out to first. They were extremely accepting. (Also, they’re dating. Sonny was the only person who knew this.) Mike joined the same year Sonny did, while Nick was already on the team. Playing professionally was different, difficult—to say the least. A lot of travelling, being away from the Carisi family in Staten Island. But breaks were wonderful—when Sonny would be able to go home and get a good night’s sleep, for once. Anxiety would keep them awake nights before games—and an hour before their debut—they threw up in the rink bathroom and Mike had to calm them down. Sonny struggles with different things, but Mike, Nick, and Amanda were always there. 

One of the scariest days of their life was when he came out. It was a year ago. Sonny was already building a name for themself on the team, with many goals and assists, and people recognized their agility, even gracefulness on the ice. In Sonny’s first season, they won the Stanley Cup—and Sonny became Rookie of the Year. By their second season—another one. It was scary, but at the same time, Sonny felt as if they owed it to themself. Not only themself, but to other athletes who were struggling to come out. 

A post later—their teammates flooded them with messages of support. Even people who didn’t play hockey—figure skaters (Rafael Barba!), basketball players, football players—so many people, it was so mind boggling to them. If you told 15 year old Sonny that they’d have support and that things would get better, that Sonny would’ve laughed in your face. And yeah, there still was transphobia, but nothing Sonny hadn’t experienced or could handle. This was their duty, their obligation, their calling. They had to help—because no one should go through what Sonny did at 15—alone. 

If anything, Rafael Barba inspired them. Sonny was 18 when Barba came out as bisexual. Perhaps it stirred something in them, the thought that if Rafael could come out, maybe he could, too. And now, Rafael Barba was there—in the shared rink. Sonny never thought they’d be able to meet him. He stood in a long sleeve shirt and leggings, his hair pushed back on his head. Sonny rubbed their own head—the blonde, brown strands falling in front of their face. And when Barba made eye contact with them, with his smile, Sonny just ran away. 

“You in love with him or something?” Nick nudges them, pulling on his training gear. Sonny’s feels their face redden and grow warm, and all they could do is shove him back. “Yeah. You are.” 

— 

“Rafael, we need to run your free skate one last time,” McCoy states. It causes the protests of his other rinkmates, because they wanted to practice even more. “You heard him,” Rafael crosses his arms, smirking when they back down. Rita and Liv roll their eyes, “We’re going to the locker room.” And Rafael was thankful, he didn’t enjoy people watching his free skate if it wasn’t perfectly polished. 

He slips on his skates again at the edge of the rink, just as the hockey team comes out of men’s locker room, all in their practice gear. Protective, but not as bulky for a regular game. They’re adorned in blue, orange, and white—Rafael can’t get over how stupid they look. (Except Sonny, actually. Sonny pulls it off.) 

Sonny was sandwiched between two other men, who Rafael guesses were Dodds and Amaro. The trio were the only players Rafael knew by heart. But Sonny’s eyes are glued on him. 

Rafael smirks, when he skates back onto the ice. “An audience?” He asks McCoy, who was loading up the music. McCoy shrugs, “Why not?” 

He starts at the center, his hands and arms raised—they were going to drop slowly at the beginning of the music. In the stands sits the hockey team, some of them were watching—others talking quietly. But Sonny was staring, they were looking. 

The music and Rafael tend to become one, when he skates. People say that Rafael doesn’t skate to the music, the music follows _him._ He was dancing to a piece composed for him, something that represented him. Soft piano, that builds and builds as Rafael does more jumps, then softens again as Rafael slows his program. It was made to represent Rafael, that was why it meant so much to him. 

The piano begins—Rafael’s arms drop—and he glances at Sonny’s face one more time. 

He puts on a show. 

(For Sonny. But he’s not clear as to why.) 

— 

Sonny’s heart beats out of their chest. 

Watching Rafael Barba skate on TV is much, much, more different when you watch Rafael Barba skate in real life. It sends chills down Sonny’s spine, makes their heart spin, Rafael feels electric. 

They watch as Barba skates to the music—no, the music plays for _him._ Barba glides like he was born on the ice, his passion oozes out of him, and though Sonny can barely see his facial expressions, he guesses that they reflect that. When the music builds to a climax, he jumps into a flying sit spin—probably one of the only ‘moves’ Sonny knows the best, since it’s so different from the other jumps. They watched a lot when they were younger, sometimes now, but the competitions interferred with their games. They’d watch the replays. 

When Barba's spin starts to slow, he starts skating again—his back arched and his arms pointed to the sky. His body moves so freely, like it had no restraints. A second passes, and Barba is now entering a jump, before landing it flawlessly. Another man, who Sonny guesses is his coach, nods—it must’ve been a hard jump. But Sonny can’t tell—Barba doesn’t flub anything. 

Once the music starts to slow, Barba does, too. Sonny’s counted his jumps—seven. But he doesn’t look tired whatsoever. It’s like he just started skating, even though the sweat drips down on the ice. The music ends—with soft piano, and Barba’s arms reach out towards his coach, who nods at him. And fuck, if this wasn’t the most beautiful thing Sonny has ever seen—he didn’t know what was. They feel absolutely enthralled, chilled, like someone shook their bones. “That was pretty good,” Nick whispers to them. 

Sonny resists the urge to hit him on the head. Pretty good? That was an understatement. 

— 

Rafael ends his free skate with his hands outstretched to McCoy. He has his arms crossed, and nods at him. It went well—landed all his jumps with no shakiness, perhaps is step sequence needed more practice. Right as he finishes, the skaters who worked with the Islanders were on the ice—fixing nets. It’s his cue to get off. 

He skates slowly to the exit, riding the high of a perfect free skate. All he needs to do is pull this off at Skate America and the France International. He’ll be going against some of his old opponents, as well as younger skaters he hasn’t competed against. It’s going to be fun and fresh. 

Just as he gets off and slips on his slippers, the Islanders get off the benches, down to the ground level to discuss practice. One person hangs around, though, Sonny Carisi—who was still staring at him. “Hi,” Rafael calls out, waving at the other person. Sonny goes red—but then they smile. 

And by god, does that smile live up to their name. 

“That was—amazing,” Sonny gapes, coming down to meet him. They're taller than Rafael—lankier, too. Their left arm is curled around their helmet, holding it tightly. The two of them are a few feet away from the team talk, but Sonny makes no move to go and join them. “I looked up to you, when I was younger.” 

“Looked?” Rafael smirks, looking at Sonny up and down. Sonny seems to short-circuit, their face going red and hands flapping. “I mean—look. I still look up to you. ‘Cause. Skating.” 

“Aren’t you 21, um…” Rafael feigns not knowing their name. “Carisi! Dominick Carisi Jr., but call me Sonny. Wait—don’t call me my first name at all. Why did I say that?” 

“I’m playing with you, Sonny. I know who you are. I didn’t know you were this childish in person, though,” He teases, grabbing his skates off the floor. Sonny laughs a little bit, before responding, “And you’re Rafael Barba. I never knew I’d be able to meet you. You’re just—wow.” 

“I never knew I’d be able to meet you, too, Sonny Carisi,” He places a hand on their shoulder, before retracting it back. “Good luck,” He nods at them, turning around before they could get any word in. Something flutters in him, deep in his chest—but he doesn’t know what. 

—

The warmth leaves Sonny’s shoulder, they remain breathless and speechless as Rafael trots away, over to his coach. They feel like they’re on the verge of losing their mind—and maybe they are—but this was the start of something, Sonny thinks to themself. 

It had to be.


End file.
